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I Heart Kittens


Pam Ward

Humor Columnist

  I think kittens are the epitome of cuteness and cuddliness!  So, when mama cat “Tiny” birthed two babies under my bed three weeks ago, we were excited! At first, they looked like blind rats but quickly they became quite roly-poly. I took to calling them “little piggies” and named them “Sausage Patty and Jimmie Dean.” (Note the “ie” on Jimmie; they are both girls, naturally.) I didn’t really want them under my bed. I feared, “What if my bed crashed to the floor for no reason and squished them?”  Apparently I wasn’t the only one concerned because Tiny moved them a few days later to behind the couch, right here next to my computer. Well, early yesterday morning something happened, and they discovered their legs and came creeping out as I sat here, deep in my Facebook stalking. Scared the bejeezus out of me, I thought at first a furry tarantula was crawling across my foot.  I decided then that it was time for another relocation. I have one of those big tubs that I hardly use. (It takes all the hot water in the tank TWICE just to fill it up.) I’d discovered with a previous litter that it makes the perfect kitten corral when they are mobile but not big enough to keep themselves from doing things like getting stuck behind the dryer or under someone’s shoe.

  By this time it was daylight, I’d not been to bed yet and I was beyond tired. But I naively thought this would work, it had in the past, and I wanted to get them settled before I lay down. I found a soft, fuzzy rug and made them a nice bed in one end of the tub. In the other end, I put some fancy feast and a water bowl for Tiny. I then attempted to place her in with the piggies and she let me know right quick she wasn’t agreeable and proceeded to shred me to bits.

  OK. Time to regroup. My only other option was to put them in the empty closet in the spare room. I moved all the paraphernalia in there, blocking the closet door with a baby gate leftover from one of my grandsons. Again, Tiny was NOT having it. This time she not only clawed me but also grabbed Patty by the head and jumped the gate. Trying to catch her, I slammed my hand into the wall. OOWWW. Just knew I broke my pinky.

  By then I was literally punch-drunk from not sleeping. I sat on the floor considering whether I should cry from exhaustion or go to the ER for my busted pinky (surely there was a bone sticking out...). That was when Tiny dashed by with Jimmie in her mouth. *SIGH*

  Long story short, she took them back behind the couch, where they refuse to stay. As I write this, there are two tiny furballs crawling all over my feet.

  At least it’s not tarantulas. (Here’s where I usually say, “It could happen”, but it couldn’t... I hope.)


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